


i'm gonna make this place your home

by gustin_puckerman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Movie(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Age of Ultron. Steve and Maria struggles with the concepts of 'home', and, quite possibly, each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm gonna make this place your home

**Author's Note:**

> **Original Prompt**. _Anonymous asked_ —Can you write about Captainhill getting stuck in the elevator and are forced to confront their feelings for each other? :)

_**h** old on to me as we go_   
_as we roll down this unfamiliar road..._

.

.

.

The facility’s fairly new, she gets it. ****

And you could say that, in a long time since forever, she isn’t actually rushing to anywhere. Yes, she has some more records to write down, check in with Phil and the merry new organisation that’s S.H.I.E.L.D., maybe even order some take-outs and allow herself to fall asleep while secretly marathoning _Full House_. So yes, she isn’t hurrying anywhere.

Maybe that’s partially why she isn’t as panicked when the elevator stops on her. Oh well, _them_ , considering she isn’t exactly alone in the tiny confinement, even though of course then things perhaps would’ve been a lot easier. (She always handle things better alone. Always.) Casting a glance towards Rogers, Maria raises an eyebrow, then holds a sigh when the light starts flickering.

“Please don—”

And the emergency light replaces as the elevator makes a disappointing noise of shutting completely down.

 _Great_.

“I—” Steve gasps, then comes forward to press the elevator buttons. “We can’t—is this really happening?”

“We were expecting black-out’s.” She explains as she starts to close off her tab—the battery’s getting low; she better savour it in case they’re staying here longer than they need to—barely passing a look at the Captain. “It won’t last longer than an hour. At the most, two. Technicians are looking over to reboot the system, or at least that’s the plan anyway. I sent you an e-mail about this.”

“I—” He sounds like he’s objecting, before he makes a depressing sound of retreat, then looks down nearly devastatingly, “—yes. _Yeah_. I… I skimmed through it. I didn’t think it’d be… tonight.”

“Neither did I. It’s supposed to be Monday, but Fury informed that the reboot needed to happen quick. So, no, I am not surprise.”

“And you didn’t send an e-mail about _this_?” He raises an eyebrow authoritatively down her way, challenging—maybe even a hint of dissatisfaction are simmering in his tone somewhere—but Maria doesn’t cower. Oh, it takes more than that to make her tremble, and a disapproving look of one Captain America because she’d missed to inform him of an unconfirmed black out isn’t one of them.

“If I had, you wouldn’t check it ‘till you were well in your quarter. It makes no difference, Cap.”

He doesn’t look happy—no, he looks tired and grumpy (hah. Natasha would’ve made an old man joke right about now.) and bitter, like someone has messed with his morning coffee or has allowed Tony to steal one of his ‘special’ sketches (the ones that he usually kept close to him, the ones that were filled with lines that would’ve shaped into Senior Agent Carter’s eyes or Barnes’ wiry smiles)—and grumbles out: “ _Hmph,_ ” as though the sound itself is a legitimate answer in itself.

Maria watches him, one eyebrow arches while her interest are piqued. 

Normally, she would’ve chosen to stay silent. Though it has been proven from time after time that Rogers— _Steve_ —is rather a nice companion to talk to, if you manage to get through his seven layers of sassiness, that is, but clearly the Captain isn’t in a good mood, and Maria’s never been one to small talk—so yes, normally, she would’ve opted to let the silence lingers.

But then he sighs. Heavily. Broad shoulders slumping in a way that she usually witnesses whenever Wilson and him had met a dead end on Barnes’ trail those long months ago. And Maria exhales out—oh, she’s going to regret this, isn’t she?—before blankly asks:

(But she’ll start slow. She’ll start gently.)

“How was the training today?”

He looks at her for a moment, blue eyes suddenly wide and clear under the horrible dimmed lightings, like he’s surprised to discover that, _oh_ , Maria Hill _does_ talk after all, before gathering himself quick enough to cover the shock, straightening his posture upright as though he’s being questioned.

Something in his face twitches.

“It went fine.” Comes his low reply, something that Maria doesn’t expect given his… riled up condition just moments ago. “Everybody was—they’re fine.”

“I hope the reports doesn’t say just that.”

And then comes a faint of a forced smile, (Maria would know about those, wouldn’t she?) edging at the curl of his lips. He sighs again, lighter now, blue eyes shifting down to gaze at his feet. Normally, she would’ve rolled her eyes at such act—looking vulnerable or timid has never been her first reaction to anything, nor would she encourage it for anybody to do it around her—but she decides to let this one slide, wondering where this will lead.

“It’s—” He tries, obviously struggling, but forces it out of himself anyway. “It’s progress. It’s not easy,” Here, he blows a heavy air, like, _of course_ , “But it’s good . Sam’s having fun.” And at the mention of Wilson, Maria doesn’t doubt that there’s a smile, albeit a small one.

“I’m sure he’ll have fun once the bills for the broken glasses comes along.”

At this, Steve cringes, and Maria eases on her expression. “Right,” He says, scratching an area at the back of his neck, looking like _he’s_ the one who flew himself too hard until he smashes one whole window. “I thought you could—”

“I’m joking.” At this, Maria eases her expression some more, the _commander_ in her leaking out slowly, as though her whole body is very aware to the fact that she’s off the clock. (Although she’s never off the clock. Not really.) “Of course Wilson won’t be paying it.”

The breath he releases is a low mixture of a relieved sigh and a weak attempt of a chuckle, but at least when he smiles this time, albeit small and tiredly, it’s genuine. 

Maria shifts her gaze away, clears her throat —“And the others?”

The good Captain hesitates, quick and barely noticeable (oh, but then again nothing goes past _Maria Hill_ ), and Maria raises her brows crucially at that, her interest piqued even more so. “The others. They—they’re doing fine.” He clears his throat, scrunches up his face somewhat, then nods firmly, “Great.”

As though knowing the answer isn’t enough, and it _isn’t_ , he tries to explain some more, “Vision’s learning quick. And he’s—he’s very powerful. But I think everybody knows that, even him, himself.”

“And Girl Maximoff?”

“Wanda—” And _this_ is when Maria has an idea behind Rogers’ sour mood. The twitch to his jaw is one tell, the way he shuffle his feet afterwards (a trait he does to distract himself, even if it’s in a stretch of a three second; always does it when he’s entirely way too uncomfortable) and then, there’s the thing where he doesn’t meet her eye contact. At all. “She’s—powerful, too. In her own way. It’s... it’s a work in progress. The death still... We’re helping her work through her grief. She’s lost someone who’s important to her. I get it.”

“Captain?”

“It’s amazing, what she can do.” At this point, the volume of Rogers’ voice decreases, and he’s staring at a spot on the floor like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, but _frowning_ at it—as though the particular area has personally done him wrong. “She’s... she’s really— _powerful_.”

“Captain.” When her voice comes out this time, it’s full of the authority he should have familiarised himself by now, all command and order, _demanding_ him to give his attention solely to her. But it’s also a call—to snap him out of the trance that he’s putting himself in. Slowly. Undeniably.

“I—”

“ _Steve_.”

Like somebody has woken Rogers up seven decades later, for that one split second, the look on Steve Rogers’ face is one out of true bafflement—mouth gaping and eyes wide. Maybe there’s even fear in them. Something dark flickering before it’s gone, and Steve takes a tiny step back, looking around like he’s confirming where he is, and where he always has been for the past few minutes.

He looks breathless. Hopeless. Shaken up.

“It’s not her fault,” He says before Maria can conclude on anything while he presses his hand against his temple, taking desperate breaths in.

“Did she got into your head again?” Maria frowns harshly, intending to come closer but knows better. Girl Maximoff. Of course. She’s always wary of the girl, anyway. 

“No.” Steve tells her, spine now against the wall of the elevator, head still bowed to the floor. “It’s—I—”

“Rogers, come on,” There’s annoyance in Maria’s tone, she realises that, although she doesn’t know if it’s due to the Captain’s (perhaps false?) insistence that Girl Maximoff is not to blame, or if it’s directly towards Girl Maximoff herself. “You’re okay. You’re fine.”

“It’s not her fault,” Comes his hasty reply, eyes now frowning when it snaps to meet her silver ones but Maria doesn’t waver at the sudden hardening gaze, in fact she takes it as a challenge—stares back like her life depends on it. “I don’t—I don’t think she realises it. I just keep...”

And she lets him take his time, and he does.

“I just keep seeing...” He repeats slowly, calming down, looking back at his feet while one hand settles on his chest, and Maria dares himself to step closer, but directly in front of the male, silver eyes calculating on Rogers’ usually honest expression, “It feels like I was back.”

“—back?”

“It’s after the war. We won. Everybody was celebrating. And I was... I was there.” When he looks up this time, his face was half-red, lips pursed like he’s trying not to show if it’s truly trembling. “ _Peggy_ was there.”

“Rogers—”

“It happens every time... Every time Wanda’s near but I know it’s not—it can’t be her fault. She’s... she’s _good_.” Steve confesses, “She’s getting better.”

Maria closes her eyes, for a moment speechless as to what she should say. “Cap—”

“Peggy keeps telling me that we could go home. And we would—” Steve shuts his eyes close now, like it physically _pains_ him with each words that he’s got to say, his hands curling into fists by his side, bearing it. “I keep _seeing_...”

“I know,” Maria finds herself saying, coming closer, voice coming out to a near whisper, “I know.”

“No,” He shakes his head at her, gritting his teeth together. “You _don’t_.”

“But I _do_.” And she does—not how he meant it maybe, and perhaps not exactly, but it’s what most soldiers, _survivors_ , tend to experience through. It’s different with every person; how they got it, what triggered them, what made it stay and what helps them cope—but by the end of the day, it’s called the same thing; they’re all reliving the same familiar symptoms. So, yes, Maria _knows_. “It’s not real, Cap. You’re okay. Look at me. Take a deep breath, come on—look at me.” 

“Mar—Maria.”

“ _Steve_.”

And then Maria realises that she’s holding onto his hand, the other grasping on his collar—one stance comforting, the other holding out to hold _him_. It’s odd, sure, but in a way, it momentarily reminds her of how they work. If that makes sense. 

“You’re okay. Wanda’s not here. It’s all in your head.” And then, a pause, Maria manages to tell him anyway, “She’s just a trigger.”

He doesn’t look at her. Not really. But she could feel the way his fingers are squeezing back into her palm and Maria exhales, releasing his collar and takes a mini step back, yet never tugging their hand hold apart, knowing how much he needs it (and maybe, in a way, she needs it too).

“I’m sorry,” he whispers so lowly, she thinks there’s even a chance that she might’ve missed it—and the shock that travels down her spine at those two words make her throat run dries, before, frowning:

“It’s not your fault.” Maybe she’s angry— _mad_ that he would think he have anything to be sorry for—maybe she’s just honestly not good at this comforting thing (and she isn’t, she assures you), but she’s feeling _something_ alright; the man in her stomach stomping angrily, making her chest feels heavy when she seems to be squeezing _his_ hand harder than she should afterwards, “It’s not anybody’s fault.  _You_ told me that, remember? Goddammit, get your grip together, Cap. Don’t tell me you’re sorry when you’re not at fault, am I understood, soldier?”

When he looks at her, it’s remorse. For himself, for her—she’s not certain. But it makes her feel uneasy. Like she should _pity_ him or something. Honestly!

“ _Fuck it_ ,” she finally drawls, sighing out heavily, looking at the closed elevator doors while she collects her thoughts, “You’re going to be okay, Steve.” She tries again, slower. Gentler. Then, staring at him, she gives him a firm nod—a promise—silver eyes sharp and unwavering, just like her words as it stumbles out: “I’ve got you.”

And though she doesn’t tell, but when he squeezes her hand in his larger ones, Maria thinks that feels like home.

(No wonder he wants it so bad.)

.

.

.

_and although this wave is stringing us along_   
_just know you're not alone..._

**Author's Note:**

> When I first started filling this prompt, maybe it was like, a month ago? _Two_ months ago? I’m not so sure, but I’m sure that when I did—I had an entirely different plan to where this was supposed to end up at. And while I know that there are faults in my writing ( e.g. I don’t write PTSD’s episodes very well, my whole grasp of Maria/Steve are off ), please know that I am slowly learning my way back into this ship. So, yeah, I’m a little rusty. Forgive me for that.
> 
> In any case, I’m quite satisfied with what I’ve written. I’m thinking of continuing it? Like, give my chance at trying to tackle Maria/Steve post-AoU plot?? I mean, what do _you_ think?


End file.
